“I am glad you are such a plucky young woman, Miss Fielding,” he added, as he lit his lantern. “One need not be afraid of being wrecked in mid-ocean with you. We’ll find some way of escape from this old barge, never fear.”
Thus speaking cheerfully, he led the way out of the room and into the open cabins of the saloon deck. Ruth followed, glad enough to give up the leadership to him.
CHAPTER XVI—ON THE EDGE OF TRAGEDY
They went up to the open deck to meet the blackest night Ruth Fielding ever remembered to have seen. The impenetrable clouds seemed to hover just above the masts of the abandoned steamship.
The night air aided Mr. Dowd to recover his poise. It was plain that the narcotic influence of the drink the doctor had given him still affected his brain more than did the blow he had suffered in falling. Soon his mind was quite clear and his manner the same as usual.
“I am afraid, as you say, Miss Fielding, that we are alone on the ship. I do not hear a sound,” he said.
“But you do not think the ship is sinking, do you, Mr. Dowd?” Ruth asked.
“She does not roll as though she was waterlogged in any degree. Nor can I see that she has any pitch, either to bow or stern. If the explosion was amidships—and you say it was in the fireroom—I doubt if a hole torn in the outside of the ship would sink her.
“You see, the engine room and boilers are shut off from the rest of the ship, both fore and aft, by water-tight bulkheads. If these were closed when the accident occurred, or soon after, that middle compartment might fill—up to a certain point—and that would be all. She could not take in enough water to sink her by such means.”
“But one would think Captain Hastings—or the engineer—or somebody—would have discovered the truth,” Ruth said, in doubt.